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Sparring
{|style="width:100%; color:#FFF;" |valign="top" style="padding:5px;"| The execution of the first target came with a swift kick to the lower jaw, sending the target sprawling back a good five feet. He landed on the deck with a thud, and didn’t move again after that. The second target came at her with a knife in an outstretched hand. A wicked, scything arc glinted under the lights from above, and the Spartan brought the same foot up and around, catching the man’s wrist and knocking the knife up. The armoured figure stepped close to the man while he recovered, ducking low and delivering a blow to the man’s ribs. He doubled over, and the Spartan twisted about the waist, bringing her elbow up into the side of the man’s head. He twitched once, his head knocked sideways with enough force to dislocate his skull, and he fell to the floor. The next two approached with batons in one hand, knives in the other. They danced to and fro, waiting for the right time. Spartan Kennedy stood up, raising her fists. The left man moved first, swinging a knife at her. Kennedy grabbed it with one hand, spun out away from it, and pushed her second hand into the elbow joint. She yanked the arm backwards, hearing—and feeling—a low, sickening crack as the arm broke. The man dropped the knife to the floor, it hit with a clanging sound. The second man stepped in, slashing at her throat. She jumped back as the man swung the baton, moving the first in front of her to take the impact. The baton hit, cracked two ribs, and made the first man double over. Kennedy stepped in and threw a haymaker, catching the second man as he stood, stunned, by his companion’s cry of pain. His skull ruptured around her fingers, spurting a gout of blood from his temple, and he crumpled to the ground like a deflated balloon. While the first man stood hunched over with one useless arm, Kennedy struck his back with the flat of her hand, severing his cervical vertebrae. He collapsed atop his friend. She stretched her back, keying the interface controls in her helmet. The holographic targets dissipated into lines of code, melting into the floor as it, too, vanished into blue squares and black backgrounds. Numbers flashed on her helmet: Time: 38.11 seconds. Kennedy cursed and wrenched her helmet off, walking over to a stack of seats at the side of the holographic sparring room. She grabbed her canteen, keyed the master controls, and watched the whole room dim to darkness. Taking a swig of warm, slightly-salty water, she made for the exit, only to see another armoured figure blocking her path. She froze in place, staring at the man. His upturned grin; something far too false for him to be wearing. His studious eyes, always darting too and fro, sizing her up, and his relaxed posture. “Going a few rounds?” he asked. Kennedy made a face at his grating voice, passing it off as her swallowing a mouthful of water. “Just finished,” she replied with a curt nod. He motioned into the room, pushing himself off the double door jamb. “Fancy a set?” She pushed her helmet into his chest and let go when he grabbed it. “Knock yourself out,” she told him, before pushing her way out into the corridors beyond. He looked down at the featureless helmet, before turning around. “Hey!” he called. “Where are you going?” He ran to catch up with her as she marched down the hallways. Marines stopped to salute, men and women in pressed uniforms carrying datapads gave respectful nods. She paid them no mind. “Armoury,” she replied. “Firing range after that. Probably mess hall after that, then PT with the rest of the squad.” “Alright, I get it,” he fell in line beside her. “Don’t wanna talk.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. Kennedy bristled at the man’s assessment, partly because it was correct. “There’s nothing to talk about.” “On the contrary,” He gave her a sidelong glance. “I think there’s loads to talk about.” She didn’t answer. He pulled ahead of his squad leader, forcing her to stop. He handed her back the helmet. “Look,” he sighed, looking down at her visor. “Vladimir was a good soldier, he…” Chimes struggled to find the right words, before shaking his head and shrugging. “He didn’t deserve what he got.” Kennedy took the helmet and slung it under one arm. “He did what he thought was best,” she said. “That’s all any of us can do.” She barged past, knocking his shoulder with hers. He turned around to watch her leave, narrowing his eyes before going after her again. “You made a tough call.” “That’s what leadership is, sometimes,” Kennedy said, not even bothering to slow down this time. “Making tough calls.” “Do you ever get tired of it?” he asked. She stopped in front of the Armoury doors, turning to face him. She could feel a tight knot of annoyance in her chest, could feel her jaw clench and her hands ball into fists. “What is this about, Chimes?” He looked around to make sure no one was listening, before keying the code to the armoury, and pulling her inside with an arm around her shoulders. “Look,” he said. “The threes and twos are at each other’s throats. The twos blame the threes for Vladimir, the threes blame the twos.” She shot him a glance. “I wonder whose fault that is.” He grinned, but covered it up with a shake of his head. “All I did was talk to my squadmates, and let them vent.” “There’ll be no more of that,” Kennedy said, tossing his arm off. “I don’t buy it for a second, Chimes.” Holding out his hands by his side, he leaned towards her in a taunting fashion. “You can’t forbid me from talking to my teammates,” he said with a wider grin. She pushed a finger into his chest. “I can order you not to talk about Vladimir with them.” “Why?” He batted the finger away with a hand. “Afraid I might be privy to some awful truths?” he lowered his head and stared at her beneath a heavy brow. She sneered at him, turned her back, and flicked a hand at him dismissively. “Get out of my sight.” He snorted—snarled at her dismissal. “Imagine what would’ve happened,” he said slowly, waiting for her to stop, “if you hadn’t ordered a retreat.” She spun around immediately, walking back over to the grinning man. “Don’t you dare. You kept the Threes from retreating when I ordered.” “You ordered a retreat in the face of a beatable enemy.” He tilted his head. “I did what I thought best. I made a tough call, isn’t that what leadership is, sometimes?” he parroted. She shoved him. “Not by contradicting a higher rank!” He shoved her back. “We’re the same rank. You’re in charge by good will, and good will alone, but now that good will has run out.” They pressed themselves together, less than an inch between their angry faces. No one spoke. The marines in the armoury watched the display with growing interest. A battle of wills, jostling for dominance. Spartan Chimes pulled away first, and turned his back on Kennedy. “Do you wonder what the Threes think of you? You got three Spartans injured on your first deployment,” he clicked his tongue, looking over his shoulder at her. “Lost one by sounding a retreat. What’s next? Who is next?” Kennedy’s fists were balled up so tight that she thought her bodysuit might breach. “Everyone thinks it when they look at you,” Chimes said, making a show of testing his gauntlets, and flexing his black-clad fingers inside them. “Everyone thinks that they might be next. That you might get them killed the next time they put on that armour.” His eyes glinted when he looked over his shoulder this time. “Just like you did Vladimir.” The punch connected with his jaw before he had time to react, which was saying something. The force of the blow wrenched his jaw bone from its joint, and sent him cartwheeling to the floor. The marines reacted half a second later, with cries erupting from the armoury. Chimes groaned as he got to his feet, clicking his jaw back into place and flexing it. Kennedy let him stand, and wipe a trail of blood from his chin. He looked down at it with an impassive glare, then up at her while he rolled the liquid between his thumb and forefinger. “So, we’re having that sparring session after all, hm?” She said nothing, he cracked his neck, and charged at her. Kennedy had just enough time to brace her heels against the floor before he slammed into her midsection, lifting her up off the deck. She wrapped her legs around his waist and threw herself back while he was tossing her to the floor, giving him more momentum than he bargained for. Just as he stumbled, Kennedy twisted herself around with a yell of exertion, using all her strength to slam him into the decking beside her. They both scrambled to their feet as quick as they could. Kennedy launched a kick at his face. He caught it with both hands, and wrenched her leg to one side. She cried out in pain as he bones protested, a throbbing ache coming from her ankle all the way up to her thigh. She felt a fist slam into the back of her knee, and she dropped to her hands and knees herself. Chimes stood up, and made a running start into a vicious toe-kick aimed at her chin. She rolled to one side, braced herself on the ground with her uninjured leg, and threw all her strength into her next uppercut. It hit Chimes just under the nose, sparing him the brunt of the crushing force, but making him stumble back with a shattered cartilage. Blood seeped from his nostrils, and he was blinded by pain for a split second. In his panic, he swept his arm around, trying to catch her if she got too close. She ducked under the obvious move, punching him in the side. He curled to one side like paper next to a flame, and spuna round to throw a serious punch this time. Kennedy didn’t have time to dodge, only brace. It hit her cheek and knocked her head to one side. Chimes grunted with the force behind the blow, Kennedy with the pain of it connecting. With a final roar, Kennedy launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his midsection. Instead of lifting him, she moved her hands lower to his legs, wrenching them towards her while her upper body pushed him back. He fell onto his back with a thud of half a tonne of armour hitting steel. She straddled his waist, launching a punch at his face. Then another, and then a third. Soon, she was raining blows down on him, and he only had the wherewithal to wait for the blows to come. It took Kennedy a few seconds to realise that she was screaming while she pummeled the man below her. Eventually, she stopped, frozen mid-blow. Her breathing came to her ragged, and raspy. She tasted copper, and felt a strange sense of lightheadedness. She looked up from the man beneath her. At the end of the room, watching her with looks ranging from impassive to angry, were the rest of the Spartans. She scanned their faces, then looked down at the bloody mess that was Spartan Chimes’ face. His nose was twisted, one eye swollen shut, there were gashes across his cheeks and head where her blows had ruptured the skin. Blood leaked from the wounds and down onto the decking below. She looked back up at the gathered Spartans, and around at the spectating Marines. They had fallen silent at her barbarity. She lowered her bloodied fist, but made no move to get up. Her hands relaxed, but her heart kept hammering away in her chest. This time, a twinge of fear wormed its way through her veins. He cackled in his throat, grinning up at her, fresh crimson soaking his lips. “Well, how about that?” he said to her, leaning up to whisper his next two words. “I win.” Category:Stories Category:The Weekly